


it's all for you

by wingspike



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (kind of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingspike/pseuds/wingspike
Summary: He’s soley focused on the way Sylvain’s lips feel against his neck as he kisses to the edge of Felix’s turtleneck before trailing back up to the point behind his ear that has him shivering. Sylvain’s voice is pitched low when he speaks, as if he’s trying not to spook a stray cat.“You make me feel alive. I want to feel alive, Felix.”Felix puffs out a harsh breath of air, hand raising to thread through the short hair at the nape of Sylvain’s neck.“Then do what you want. Just don’t make me regret it.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 354





	it's all for you

**Author's Note:**

> it's been two years since i wrote anything and fire emblem always manages to make me open my laptop to write. somehow. thanks fe3h for ruining my life.
> 
> no beta, hopefully not too rusty lol. thank you for reading!!

Felix is restless. It happens more so as the end of the war begins to feel like it’s approaching. He’s been fighting for the last five years and can’t help but think that he has no idea what he’s going to do after this. What  _ do _ you do when one thing has started to feel like it’s all you know? Felix sometimes can’t believe how easy it was to fall into the rhythm of wake up, fight, sleep, before doing it all over again. When this is all over, when there’s actually a night where the world can get some peace and quiet - well, Felix isn’t sure what he’s going to do, and he isn’t too sure he really wants to think about it.

When he thinks about it, he gets more restless; and when he’s so restless, all he wants to do is fight. So he gets up, paces his room, sits on the edge of his bed and tries to just  _ relax _ , but it’s just so damn impossible. It’s  _ all _ impossible, so he figures it might as well be time to stay up and go down to the long abandoned training grounds, see what withered dummies he can cut up until he wears himself out enough to maybe sleep some. It’s better than sitting in this old, dusty room for the rest of the night, wondering if there’s anyone else struggling to sleep like he is.

Felix figures Dimitri is next door in his own old room talking to his ghosts, and Sylvain is probably sleeping peacefully two doors down. Felix almost wants to go in there and wake him up, to see his face and see him breathing, to reassure himself that Sylvain is alive and  _ here _ and that he’s strong enough to make it out of what they hope will be their last battle, tomorrow.

He shuts the door to his room as quietly as he can behind him, slipping out into the silence of the night. These long abandoned halls are more eerie than they ever were when they were in school, especially in the dead of night. It has Felix on as high alert as normal, jumpier than he possibly ever has been.

And then he hears it on his way to the stairs, two doors down in the noiseless hall, save for the slight echo of his near-silent footsteps against the stone. It was like the soft patter of rain when holed up inside of the castle library, the fire roaring in the background and a good book in his lap. It was a sound so quiet and low, that if Felix didn’t have the training that he did, he probably wouldn’t have caught it. It gave him pause as he stopped, turning towards the noise.

Sylvain.

Of all people, it was Sylvain.

Sylvain, who never cries and always has a smile on. Sylvain, who used to comfort Felix in all his trying times as a child. Sylvain, who is also so damn grown up now and even harder to read after all of these years, who is ready to give a smile to anyone who needs it despite the horrors they face each day on the battlefield.

It confuses Felix, needless to say. He’s unconsciously stepping forward, listening to the soft sniffles and shuddering breaths from a man he thinks he’s never seen cry. Even as children, he can’t picture a moment where Sylvain was the one with his cheeks covered in tears and his nose dripping snot. Felix can only remember it as himself, as him in those shoes, always running to Sylvain. He remembers sunny days with scraped knees or late nights full of nightmares, strong arms around him, surrounding him with a warmth he’s never been able to find anywhere else. 

What confuses Felix more is the why. What reason would Sylvain, of all people, have to cry? And maybe this is where Felix realizes that he doesn’t know as much about his best friend as he used to. Certainly, there are things that are glaringly obvious in their differences - like Sylvain’s longer hair, how he’s filled out from years of fighting, how much more adept he is on horseback with the power of the Lance of Ruin in his hands. It makes Felix wonder what else is different, what else he’s missed and what else has changed in all these years where they’ve barely seen each other.

It makes Felix want to find out, and he’s knocking on the door before he can even stop himself. He should have thought twice about this, but this feels more pressing than decimating a training dummy. Felix kicks himself for it, wondering if Sylvain would even want him there to comfort him. It’s not like he has ever been someone very good at comforting, after all. Especially after all this time, he’s positive that he’s positively terrible at it.

Still, he feels like it shouldn’t stop him, so he steels himself for the reaction to come. Felix hears Sylvain startle from the other side, something getting knocked over as a warbled “Hold on!” comes through the door.

The latch clicks before the door swings open, and the smile on Sylvain’s face falters in the most minute of ways when he sees who is there.

“Oh, hey Felix.” It sounds as casual as it possibly can from someone who was just crying. He watches Sylvain scrub a hand through his already tousled hair. Felix can see the redness to his eyes, the swell of his lower lip where he probably bit it to stay quiet, the remaining wetness that clung to his cheeks that he didn’t clear in his haste. 

“Hello,” he replies. Felix inwardly winces at how formal he sounds, clearing his throat before continuing. “Can I … come in?”

“Yeah, sure. Go ... right ahead.”

Felix doesn’t think he’s ever heard Sylvain sound so awkward in his life, but he takes the movement to the side as a go-ahead and enters.

Nothing has changed in this room from when they were still in lessons, despite the overwhelming amount of dust everywhere. Still, there’s a candle going, casting warm, flickering hues on the wall, and it smells faintly like tea in a time where such a luxury shouldn't exist. Felix observes the cup sitting there, long gone cold from leaves that were probably left in there five years ago. He can’t imagine it did the comforting thing Sylvain probably hoped it would have, considering the cup was only half-empty.

Felix still doesn’t feel like much has changed, either, when he sits down on the edge of the bed and chances a glance at Sylvain who is leaning against the now closed door almost looking sheepish (or as sheepish as a person could look for someone who doesn’t embarrass easily). If he wills it, he can almost pretend they’re coming back from training, settling in to study something together from the Professor, only to goof off and forget about whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.

But right now it’s too cold for that, too dark in the minimal candle light casting shadows on the handsome planes of Sylvain’s face. It makes him look more sad than Felix ever wants to see him. Still, Felix can’t find his words, only able to pat the bed next to him as he stares down the long-lasting object of his affections.

There’s a beat before Sylvain comes to sit next to Felix, immediately crowding into his space and leaning against his shoulder. Felix feels the tickle of his swooping hair against his jaw, the warmth that radiates into his side. Sylvain has always run so much warmer than him. It makes him feel like he’s at home, even if only temporary. He finds himself relaxing into it, remembering the warmer days of their childhood. He remembers the salty ocean breeze blowing through their thin summer clothes while they sat on the hot sand during rare vacations to the Fraldarius summer home, hands linked while running into the crashing waves, Sylvain radiant and beaming, happier than he ever was back in the cage he had to call home. 

Felix thinks that maybe that’s when he fell in love with Sylvain. That maybe he’s always loved him, loved the warmth he’s given him and the care he’s always treated him with, despite growing up prickly and closed off. He wonders why things had to change - or maybe they didn’t have to and he just did.

It’s nice to sit like this, anyways, to pretend like nothing is wrong. It’s nice to pretend like the reality of their situation isn’t more dire. That tomorrow, they might not come out of a battle alive.

Felix is snapped out of his thoughts by a small sigh and a hand finding his, intertwining their fingers together. Sylvain’s thumb swirls small circles against the back of his hand, and Felix can’t tell if Sylvain is trying to make him relax or relax himself.

He glances down, seeing Sylvain looking smaller than he’s possibly ever seen him look (which is saying a lot, considering how much he’s grown). Felix gives a small, “Hm?” in response, patiently waiting.

Sylvain doesn’t look up, just bites his bottom lip and inhales slow. “It’s nothing. Well, not nothing. Kind of everything, but I want to act like it’s nothing because maybe then it’ll go away. Or something.”

Felix can only give a derisive snort, cheek resting on top of Sylvain’s head.

“You know how ridiculous you sounded just now, right?”

And Sylvain outright  _ whines _ , which is hilarious coming from someone his size and age. It makes Felix smile a little, all the same. 

“I just can’t help it. We’ve had so many close calls and we found Dimitri when we never thought we would see him again and I just --” Sylvain chokes on his own air. Felix wonders if he’s going to start crying again, and he’s not sure if he could take that. But then Sylvain continues, voice small and thin. “And I just can’t bear the thought of losing you like everyone else.”

Reality truly smacks Felix in this moment, as it plausibly is the most honest confession he has ever heard from Sylvain in his life. It shakes him to his core to think it’s about him, of all people. He exhales slowly, mind racing because maybe, for once, it’s realistic to entertain that maybe Sylvain feels the same way about him that he’s felt since they were kids and Felix would fall asleep tear-spent in Sylvain’s arms. It’s terrifying to imagine. 

Felix really thought he had gotten over these feelings, that he’d snuffed them out long ago. Things have changed  _ so much _ that it’s a wonder he still feels the same. He thought he’d gotten over this lovely redhead with a laugh like wind chimes in spring and a smile that could thaw your bones even on the coldest day in Faerghus. 

It takes him a moment to realize how long he’s been silent and how long he’s been holding his breath until Sylvain shifts beside him, unlacing their fingers so he can press palms into the bed to properly turn towards him. His knee brushes the side of Felix’s leg, causing Felix to jerk and look over at him. He sees a million questions in Sylvain’s eyes but there’s only one on his lips.

“Felix?”

“I’m never going to leave you. We promised.” It comes out a little harsh, a little rushed on the exhale of air he’d been holding. The words are stuck in his throat but he finds he needs to get them out.

“Yeah, we sure did,” Sylvain laughs, sounding a little breathless, looking in awe at Felix.

“You want me to promise again?” Felix asks in a rush, kicking himself for it because, really? They’ve held onto their promise for this long, so why would they need to reaffirm it?

But the second he sees the look in Sylvain’s eyes when he says it, he knows that it isn’t the worst thing he could have said.

“Would you?”

There’s a shred of hope there, a breathlessness that Sylvain has as he shifts to ease into Felix’s space. He raises a hand to Felix’s cheek, looking as surprised as Felix feels when he doesn’t pull away. He thinks he knows what is going to happen next, yet it still doesn’t prepare him for how weightless he feels at the chaste brush of Sylvain’s lips against his own. It’s not enough to even get a taste, but it stirs something primal in Felix that he’d thought long locked up, and finds himself instantly wanting more.

Sylvain crowds him even further, pushing at his shoulders and pawing at his legs until Felix gets the hint to swing his legs up. Sylvain promptly makes a home between his legs.

Felix leans back onto his hands, eyes focused only on Sylvain’s face and the myriad of emotions there. It’s like he’s trying to figure out just what he wants while fighting each of his impulses. Felix thinks he sees when that wall breaks, though, as Sylvain is suddenly pressing back forward as if a man possessed. He crashes their mouths together, and it’s terrible and wonderful and terribly wonderful.

The kiss is absolutely sloppy and there’s too much teeth and no finesse whatsoever until Sylvain pulls back with murmurs of “please” and “don’t leave me again” and “stay with me forever” before meeting Felix’s lips again.

It’s much better when they come back together, this time. Sylvain slows in his haste, tilting Felix’s face  _ just so _ with big, warm palms. It’s more comfortable, sweeter, until Sylvain bites onto Felix’s lower lip. He soothes the ache over with his tongue, causing Felix to gasp softly. Sylvain automatically takes advantage of it. It’s heady, the way everything that is distinctly Sylvain fills his senses; from his homey scent of leather and woodsy scented soap, to the bitter aftertaste of the tea that is still in Sylvain’s mouth. It has him drunk on all that is Sylvain.

Felix has dreamt of this for years and can’t believe it’s truly happening - that Sylvain wants him just as bad. The boy to whom he cried to, the boy whose name he murmured on heated nights in the dark confines of his academy room, the boy - no,  _ man _ \- who he thought would only ever be a friend until they were forced to get married and carry on the lives their parents wanted them to lead. There’s a piece of him holding out that this isn’t just a comfort in the middle of war, that this  _ really _ means something. 

But things have changed, and not just change in the sense of these shared kisses or the way their relationship may change. No, the world around them had been changing and there were so many things that could still be altered to fit a reality that they wanted, that Dimitri wanted, that their Professor wanted.

Like maybe aside from falling in love with Sylvain, they could be together - stay together. He feels like it’s so possible with Sylvain’s hot breath ghosting underneath the cut of his jaw, head tilted back and eyes glued to the ceiling as he processes just what’s happening. Felix is trying to catch his breath, feeling like he just ran across the battlefield and can’t get enough air as he cuts down one last Imperial soldier. He’s solely focused on the way Sylvain’s lips feel against his neck as he kisses to the edge of Felix’s turtleneck before trailing back up to the point behind his ear that has him shivering. Sylvain’s voice is pitched low when he speaks, as if he’s trying not to spook a stray cat.

“You make me feel alive. I want to feel alive, Felix.”

Felix puffs out a harsh breath of air, hand raising to thread through the short hair at the nape of Sylvain’s neck.

“Then do what you want. Just don’t make me regret it.”

There isn’t any heat behind it, and Sylvain laughs, sounding a trace more genuine with a small, “okay”. His fingers curl at the edge of Felix’s turtleneck, tugging it down before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin there.

Felix outright  _ moans _ , fingers of one hand curling tighter in their hold on Sylvain’s hair, the other flying up to cover his mouth. Goddess save him from making another noise as embarrassing as that. He feels the heat at the tips of his ears and feels the strain against his pants where they bracket Sylvain’s hips.

And Sylvain stays just where he is, hands wandering Felix’s thighs, his sides, his hair where they pluck out his hair-tie to relish in the silkiness of those dark, midnight strands. It’s like he’s content making a mess of Felix’s neck, yet Felix finds he wants more. He’d called Sylvain insatiable on more than one occasion, but he wonders if that’s just because of how much he secretly wants and wants and  _ wants _ for Sylvain. He’s had one too many dreams of this for too damn long to not get what he wants, especially when no one knows if they’ll even have another day to wake.

Felix grabs at Sylvain’s undershirt, undoing the fasteners that hold it shut at the front before working on the teal one underneath. He feels more than he hears Sylvain’s quiet laughter before he’s easing back, acquiescing Felix by giving into what he wants. He can get the hint when someone’s trying to take off his clothes, thankfully. Sylvain sits back on his heels, shrugging off his layers before discarding them over the edge of the bed. His eyes are intent on Felix as he does, as if trying to convey all of his desires in one look.

And Felix can’t look away, himself. He’s back on his elbows, now, feeling like he has the perfect view. He likes how Sylvain looks right now - flushed and shirtless, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as Felix gives him an appreciative stare. He’s completely unashamed as he looks Sylvain over, from his kiss-swollen lips to the new and old scars that litter his skin (that he so badly wants to map with his tongue), to the way Sylvain’s muscles shift when he reaches down to start on the laces of his pants, obviously hard and straining against the fabric. 

This has Felix moving, sitting up and batting Sylvain’s hands away. He wants to be the one to do this for Sylvain, to be the one that undoes Sylvain and show him just how much he cares. How much he’s always fucking cared. He feels he should slow down, be more hesitant in such unfamiliar territory, but this is Sylvain and he’s always known Sylvain like the back of his hand. He’d be surprised if he couldn’t figure out what he likes, even with so much wasted time separating them. 

So he unlaces Sylvain’s pants with no preamble, not looking up to the intake of breath above him. His hand slips past the waistband of Sylvain’s undergarments, slim fingers wrapping around his cock.

“ _ Fuck _ .”

_ That _ has Felix looking up. He feels the air punched out of him at the open and desperate expression Sylvain is wearing for him.  _ For him _ . He wants to kiss him so that maybe he could pretend he didn’t see it, to pretend that this was too good to be true and that there was no damn way Sylvain could desire him so badly. Felix can’t lie to himself for long, but he can sure as hell try.

He kisses Sylvain, anyways - slower, this time. More steady. He can’t tell if it’s to ground himself or to ground Sylvain. (It’s definitely himself - he knows this as he begins to match the pace of his hand to that of his kisses.) His tongue is slow, exploratory, tracing the line of Sylvain’s perfect teeth, memorizing the taste of cinnamon on his lips from the tea he drank, committing the soft sighs Sylvain gives him when his fingers catch just right. He presses his thumb just underneath the head of Sylvain’s cock, earning him a shiver and a low moan that Felix files away for later, along with the next that comes as he dips his finger into the precome that’s slick across the tip. He’s broken the kiss and pulled back enough to see Sylvain’s face, to watch his eyes go wide and wild when Felix pulls his hand away to lick the taste of Sylvain off the pad of his finger.

Felix didn’t think Sylvain could look more beautiful, but he does, and Felix doesn’t have enough time to think before Sylvain is quickly pulling at the clasps of his coat, pushing it from his shoulders before working at the layers of shirts underneath. Felix is a little ashamed to admit that he likes Sylvain manhandling him like this - likes the way he can feel how much stronger he’s gotten as he pushes and pulls at him, manipulating him around as he pleases. Felix is completely pliant, allowing it to happen and only moving minimally to assist. 

The second he’s divested of half his clothes, Sylvain’s mouth is back on him. It’s hot and soft against his neck, his shoulder, the spaces in his ribs after encouraging hands nudge him back to the pillows. Sylvain’s teeth bite and then he sucks a clean mark before laving it back over with his tongue, moving to another spot at his own leisure. Felix knows he will feel these for days to come, and he’s surprisingly ok with the feeling of being claimed. He’s thoroughly distracted by the sting of teeth and the dull ache of forming bruises to the point where he doesn’t even realize how low Sylvain has moved until he feels a wash of calescent air over his exposed cock. He’s almost embarrassed by it, but his eyes snap open too fast and he’s too hit by the reality of what’s to come before Sylvain takes him into his mouth with a content hum. 

He looks pretty, even now, lips stretched around Felix’s cock as he tries to take as much of it in his mouth as he can. Felix feels it the moment he hits the back of Sylvain’s throat, and he has the audacity to  _ swallow _ , breathing hard through his nose as he tries to take him further still.

Felix has to cover his eyes at this, too embarrassed and too overwhelmed by the heat and the delicate sweep of Sylvain’s eyelashes against his flushed cheeks. He lets out his own shuddering sigh, a hand reaching down to fist back in Sylvain’s hair. It feels so fucking good that he can’t take it. He gets lost in the feeling of Sylvain’s mouth on him and figures that if he were to die like this, then he’d probably be okay with it.

Sylvain works so hard, too. He moves his head in time with his hand, ever present on sensitive skin, groaning when Felix pulls a little too hard on his hair, panting hot and heavy with each swipe of his tongue from root to tip. Felix feels so conflicted because he could watch Sylvain do this all day, but he’s also selfish and wants so,  _ so _ much more.

He gives Sylvain’s hair a particularly rough tug, earning a surprised gasp that he immediately files away for the next time he’s in private. Sylvain eases off, looking positively debauched. Felix has to grab the base of his cock at the look Sylvain gives him, otherwise he’s sure he may come right then and there. His lips are spit-slick and parted on soft breaths, gaze hazy yet focused wholly on Felix, saliva still connected from Felix to his lips. It’s downright criminal how good Sylvain looks in this moment. Felix is so fucking in love with this idiot.

“Goddess, get up here and kiss me,” Felix demands, reaching out for Sylvain.

Sylvain’s response is immediate - so ready to comply. Felix swallows Sylvain’s sweet sighs, relishes in the firm hands that slide over his body, as if trying to memorize each dip and curve and flex of muscle. Felix truly hopes this isn’t the only time this happens, as he’d also like the chance to commit each inch of Sylvain’s skin to memory, each new scar he hasn’t seen, each way his breath hitches depending on where he’s touched.

Felix honestly hopes this isn’t a dream - that Sylvain will want him after this, that it won’t be a one time thing. He wants the thought to stop nagging at him because he wants to enjoy this, wants to soak up the attention Sylvain seems to be giving him so willingly. He’ll accept it, in the end, if it is. He wants nothing but to have Sylvain in his life. However, he’s not sure anything will ever quell the heartache that comes.

“Sylvain,” Felix murmurs between kisses.

It gives Sylvain pause and he pulls back just enough that their lips still brush. The smile he has is small, loving, personal. Just for Felix. Only for Felix. Maybe only ever for Felix.

“Hm?”

“Can you just fuck me already?”

Sylvain looks equally embarrassed and thrilled by the idea, cheeks bright before he’s nodding and slipping off the bed after giving Felix a quick kiss. 

“Yes.” Another kiss after grabbing something from his pack. 

“Fuck yes.” And he’s quickly shucking his pants and undergarments to the ground. He crawls back between Felix’s legs, dropping the vile into the sheets before pulling at Felix’s pants. Felix raises his hips to assist before he’s met with another kiss and an incredulous laugh.

“Goddess. Gods, I don’t know. I don’t care. I’ve waited so long for you to ask.”

Now it’s Felix’s turn to balk, because did Sylvain really just admit that? Did he just admit to wanting him?

Felix is full of a new kind of giddy joy, one that he probably hasn’t felt since he was a child, being gifted with his first sword or having his best friend introduced into his life. These feelings may be precarious, but he can’t help but act on them, pressing into Sylvain’s space to get him under his hands. He touches anything he can touch - his strong thighs, soft hair, toned chest. He feels good between Felix’s legs - a comforting and solid warmth for all the fleeting ghosts of touch he’s had his entire life. He feels starved for touch and never wants to let go of Sylvain, never wants Sylvain to let go of him.

He surges forward to kiss Sylvain again, rushed and with no tactic, just like their first kiss. It’s fitting, considering he’s never kissed anyone else before. Maybe Sylvain finds it charming, if the smile he can feel is anything to go by.

He likes the way Sylvain tastes, how Sylvain’s tongue slides over his, how Sylvain pulls at his bottom lip. He’s thoroughly distracted as Sylvain’s busy uncorking the vial, pouring the liquid onto his fingers to warm before he’s nudging a finger behind Felix’s balls, circling against that tight ring of muscle. Felix can’t help the high pitched whine he didn’t know he could make, cheeks burning. He meets Sylvain’s stare, allowing Sylvain to push him back to the pillows again.

“Can I?” It’s so genuine it makes Felix snort, yet his legs shyly fall open, all the same.

“Of course. I already asked, didn’t I?” he says with a roll of his eyes.

Sylvain laughs. “Alright.” Before he’s pushing a finger in with no hesitation.

Felix’s head tilts back and his mind goes blank for a split second. Sylvain’s fingers fill him up more than his own ever have, and just  _ one _ is enough to feel that difference. He feels it more upon the second finger, thrusts steady. Sometimes Sylvain’s fingers curl just right and he’s seeing stars and throwing out expletives. Other times, Sylvain is pulling his fingers out just enough to catch on the rim of his hole before pushing back in, hard. Felix loves it, and when he gains the courage to look at Sylvain, who is watching him with so much reverence in his gaze, he figures he must, too.

It’s surreal to be here like this. War is still on the horizon and they’re marching to what they hope will be their final battle tomorrow. Yet here he is with Sylvain, in a bed they’ve maybe shared once or twice by accident in their academy days, the cold pressing down on them and the darkness eclipsing the entire world outside of this room. Despite that, though, Felix feels warm in his entire body, his entire heart. He feels like the only light he needs is Sylvain right in front of him. Sylvain, like the sun, ready and able to get Felix through even the coldest winter in Faerghus and each of his own darkest days.

He hears Sylvain sigh, looks down to see him pressing a kiss to the inside of his quivering thighs, then another. Felix isn’t sure he can take much more of Sylvain treating him with so much care, like he’s going to break, like he’s something delicate or something that Sylvain can scare off. That is, until he hears the soft, “You’re so beautiful,” and he’s flushing down to his chest.

Felix is smiling, despite himself, despite his heavy breathing and weak whimpers, despite Sylvain’s steady fingers that haven’t stopped pressing in and out of him. He nudges at Sylvain’s leg with his heel, a barely-there prod.

“Come on, Gautier. We don’t have all night.”

It’s not steady, the way he says it, but he doesn’t care because it’s Sylvain that made him sound like this and feel this way. He wouldn’t have taken it if it was anyone else, after all.

Sylvain laughs again, like bells tinkling, and Felix forgets about everything outside of these walls when he withdraws his fingers and slicks himself up. Felix doesn’t have time to think about anything else before Sylvain’s cock is at his hole.

And Sylvain doesn’t delay, this time. He takes that last sentence as his order to go on. He’s fit his hands behind Felix’s knees, pushing his legs up towards his chest before he’s sinking in. They’re flush before he knows it, and he can’t help the full body shudder that comes from the feeling of Sylvain. He’s hot and thick and  _ much  _ bigger than anything he’s had, and Felix can’t help but guiltily feel like he’s pleasantly full.

“Fuck, yes,” Sylvain groans, giving his hips an experimental roll.

Felix whimpers at the feeling, lip bit, trying his best to keep his gaze on Sylvain.

Sylvain, who is staring straight at him, whose eyes are wandering each plane of his body. Sylvain, whose fingers are bruising behind his knees where they keep his legs up and keep hold, as if trying to ground himself to the reality of the situation. Sylvain, who looks hotter than he should be allowed to as he licks his lips and looks pointedly to where they are connected before he’s pulling back out and thrusting hard into Felix.

Felix has never felt self conscious in his life since growing older, but the way Sylvain seems to be picking him apart at the seams with his look, alone, is enough to make him feel it. He thankfully doesn’t get long to think about it because Sylvain starts thrusting in earnest, setting a pace that’s easy to fall into. It’s easy to fall into the way it feels. In the sweet drag of Sylvain’s cock each time he slides out slow before snapping his hips forward again. He treats it like they have the rest of their lives to stay connected like this, in a bed they might share in a place they could make their home. It almost makes Felix cry to think about - about how possible it could be. His eyes sting from unshed tears, but it doesn’t matter, because Sylvain is here to take care of him, and Felix will let him.

Sylvain leans down, letting go of his thighs to press kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the bridge of his nose, the backs of his eyelids when they flutter closed. He almost sounds senseless as he talks, as he picks up pace and murmurs each sweet nothing of “you look so good like this,” you feel so good you take this so well and

“I love you.”

Felix sobs at the admission as he comes untouched, his skin on fire and tears threatening to spill. Sylvain looks just as surprised as Felix feels, but doesn’t relent as he works Felix through his climax. It doesn’t take long before Sylvain is following suit, letting out his own groan as he releases inside of Felix.

He eases out, slow, glancing down to where Felix looks fucked out; lips bitten, hair disheveled, tears still at the corner of his eyes.

“Say it again,” Felix chokes out.

Sylvain raises an eyebrow in question at him. Felix nudges him again, no power behind it. 

“Come on, Sylvain. Don’t do this to me.”

It takes another moment for it to click but Sylvain smiles, something only for Felix that makes a chord pull in his chest. He leans in and Felix closes his eyes. Sylvain presses a kiss to his forehead, gentle.

“I love you.”

It sounds so tender and laced with a hundred different feelings. There’s so much behind those three words that Felix can’t help but cry. His shoulders shake and Sylvain moves his hands over his chest, up his shoulders, over his neck, before gingerly taking Felix’s face. 

“I love you,” Sylvain says again.

He kisses him considerate and slow, and Felix sighs into the kiss. His mouth opens as tears slide unbidden down his cheeks. He feels filled with so much happiness he never thought he’d find in this dreadful world. 

“I love you, Felix Hugo Fraldarius.”

Felix barks out a laugh through his next sob, ugly and wet and short.

“Godsdamn you,” he laughs, shifting, pushing Sylvain back onto the mattress. Felix kisses him again. He kisses Sylvain something fierce, like he’s dying and this man is his will to live (and maybe he is, he definitely is). He showers Sylvain with all the kisses he’s wanted to give to him since they were kids, kisses he kept under lock and key because dammit, this was still too damn good to be true. 

Sylvain is shaking with laughter, laughter that takes him back to when things were easy, when Sylvain was full of genuine affection and cheer instead of the mask he wore to please everyone. And that’s how he sounds now, and it brings another sob out of Felix because he wants Sylvain happy. He wants to be happy himself, and maybe he can be. Maybe  _ they _ can be. Together, even.

Felix tangles his fingers in Sylvain’s hair, kissing him still. “Damn you, saying this to me now,” Felix gets out between incessant kisses. He knocks his forehead into Sylvain’s and revels in the brightness of his eyes that he hasn’t seen in years.

“You really couldn’t have told me sooner?” Felix whispers into the space between them, scared to break this fragile confession.

“Sorry.” His thumbs are careful where they brush tears from Felix’s cheeks. “I never thought that this was possible, you know.”

“You have no idea how much I wanted this to be real. I’ve loved you since I even knew how,” Felix breathes out, fingers sliding down over Sylvain’s jaw.

“I wish you would have told me. You know I’ve only ever been yours,” Sylvain confesses.

Felix takes in a shuddering breath, willing himself not to start crying again. He can only shake his head, pushing Sylvain’s hair out of his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says fondly. “But I love you.”

“I know.”

Sylvain looks up at him, affectionate and content in the candle light. Felix can’t hold back his own smile anymore, leaning back in for another kiss.

Sylvain raises a hand to thread through Felix’s hair, easing him back enough so that he can speak against his lips.

“Hey… if we make it out alive tomorrow, and you want to, maybe we should seal our promise.”

Felix feels a moment of cold, worry flickering over his features. He’s overreacting, he knows this. He knows this can’t be something bad, right?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Dimitri’s going to be king, we’ll take our respective titles. Maybe we can build a home between our two lands, unite them. Yanno, be together and have the life that we’ve wanted without Crests, without the constraints of our families. Just us,” Sylvain tells him, like it’s matter-of-fact. That a future together is real, right on the horizon. Felix is starting to feel like he can reach out and grab it. Tomorrow almost doesn’t matter, only now. Only the after.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” he asks, more tentative than he’s been about anything in his life. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah? I mean, I hope we’re on the same page. Not sure if you want a glorious wedding in the capital and everything, but Dimitri and the girls might not really give us much of a choice,” Sylvain laughs, light.

Felix feels light, lighter than he has in years as he laughs again, capturing Sylvain’s lips in another kiss.

“Yes, fuck yes. But you better propose to me properly, because that was terrible.”

Sylvain grins, rolling them to their sides on the much too small bed only to smother Felix to his chest, drowning him with all the love he has to give. 

“Trust me, I will. I’ll do anything you want, as long as it’s with you. It’ll all be for you, Felix.”


End file.
